I heard some Russian poets have been recently resurrected. Visotsky ended up being resurrected in Melbourne, in a bar called The Men's Gallery. Naturally, he asked for vodka. The young bartender with the fountain of spiky hair enquired whether he wanted Absolute or Finlandia, or maybe he was into flavored vodka: cherry or lemon or cranberry or chilly or the specialty of the house, borsch vodka that comes in individual bottles shaped like the Kremlin. Or did he want it as a shot or perhaps with ice, and if so – how many ice cubes did he prefer?
Confused, Visotsky said he had changed his mind and instead asked for Marina Vladi (the French actress, and his wife). Which one – the bartender wanted to know – the blonde one with pink suspenders, or the brunette with the beauty spot, or the Chinese, or the one with the German accent, or the one with the triangular nipples? And would you prefer her with a big arse and small boobs, or the opposite?
Visotsky, sure he is still dead, couldn't decide whether he had ended up in heaven or hell.